


low is a height

by kateandbarrel



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateandbarrel/pseuds/kateandbarrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of season 4, Trubel tries to move on while Nick tries to run away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	low is a height

**Author's Note:**

> Drink to the sun  
> We write to millions  
> You kill everyone around you
> 
> Save yourself  
> From, from the ground you break  
> And the lives you take
> 
> \- Low is a Height, Great Northern

The house is dim, and empty, and strangely warm. Nick thinks it should be cold inside, taking into consideration all the shit that’s gone down in it lately. The number of lives ruined, of souls gone. But instead the late afternoon sun beats in through the western windows and makes the whole first floor glow orange. He feels it on his face as he moves from room to room, examining the objects of his previous life which all now seem so foreign. His fingers ghost over items in his path, and he picks up the odd object to examine it before putting it back in its place, the things in his house almost like a stranger’s.

Nick stands in his kitchen, a plastic juicer in his hand. Was there really a time in his life when he could casually stand in his kitchen juicing lemons for homemade lemonade? An image of Juliette, bags of fresh lemons from the farmer’s market in her hands, pops into his mind. Her warm smile, an afternoon spent laboriously cutting and squeezing lemons…

Nick tosses the juicer back onto the kitchen counter with a bit more force than necessary.

Trubel trails behind, observing Nick, feeling like an intruder but knowing she’s not. He specifically asked her to come along so she tries to feel like she belongs there, witnessing Nick’s self-inflicted pain as he revisits his old life. Ostensibly, the visit to the house was to gather a few essentials. The pain is too fresh and raw for Nick to stay in the house, so the two of them got a little two-bedroom apartment on the other side of town. But Trubel thinks maybe this is more than that.

A goodbye.

The two of them stand in that kitchen for what seems like forever. Trubel silently shifts from foot to foot. Staying quiet and motionless was never one of her strong suits, but she can feel that this is what Nick needs from her right now: a support to lean on. She can do that. After everything Nick’s done for her, and after everything she’s done to him, it’s the least she can do.

Eventually, Nick breaks the quiet. “I guess I have all I need.”

Trubel flicks her gaze down to the bag in his hands. There’s a couple outfits in there from the upstairs closet, a toothbrush, a few important personal documents, and a laptop. She raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? You’ve got a house full of stuff and you don’t need any of it?”

“Nope,” Nick says, a bit of an edge to his voice. He turns to face her, his face almost stoney. “The rest of it can go to whoever buys the place.”

Nick sweeps past her then, headed towards the front door. Trubel follows beside him. She wants to protest. _You’ll regret this later, you’ll be sad you left the happy memories behind, you should try to hold on to what was good,_ she tries to say. But the words dry up in her throat with one look at the pain in his eyes. 

Maybe it’s better this way.

***

Nick comes home one day with an arm full of leather-bound books. He dumps them on the coffee table in front of Trubel, looking self-satisfied.

The book covers are an array of deep jewel-tone colors - maroons, dark teals and rich golden-hued browns - and are clearly handmade. Trubel picks one up and examines the front cover, which is largely blank except for a lightly embossed, stylized G. She flips it open to find blank pages. The paper is high quality, and feels nice under her touch.

“What’s this?” she asks as Nick kicks off his shoes and flops down on the couch next to her. 

“We need to start rebuilding what we lost,” he says. The casualness in his voice is forced, but Trubel doesn’t push the issue. 

“You mean, the trailer?”

“Not the trailer specifically, but a Grimm history. An accounting of all the Wesen we’ve encountered. Only our journals would be a bit more.. up to date. Not that 15th century Germany accounts aren’t the most helpful tool in the modern world.” The sarcasm practically drips from Nick’s voice.

Trubel grins. “Cool idea.”

“Yeah?” Nick smiles at the approval. 

“Yeah. But -” Trubel cuts her thought off mid-sentence, not wanting to bring up a painful memory when Nick seems to have forgotten for a moment. She’s not sure the last time she saw him smile, but she knows it’s before the whole Juliette incident.

“What?”

Trubel shrugs and puts the book down on the pile. How to phrase this delicately? “What if someone burns it all up again?” _Nice. Real delicate._

But Nick takes it in stride, or at least he’s gotten better at pretending. He doesn’t do that thing where his eyes fill with grief and he looks away from her. Instead he taps his foot against a box Trubel hadn’t noticed on the floor. “That’s where this comes in. I got us a document scanner. We can make copies of everything and keep digital backups.”

Trubel leans back, nodding approval.

“Everyone talked about ‘the cloud’ for years and I finally get its use,” Nick stretches his arms out along the back of the couch, one going behind Trubel, just barely brushing against her shoulder. It’s an unconscious move on his part, which is why Trubel is all the more encouraged. He hasn’t let anyone near him for weeks, rebuffing Hank with a sixpack from their front door multiple times, refusing hugs from Rosalee, and brushing Monroe’s hand off his shoulder whenever it landed there. Trubel had tried only once, to put her hand on his arm, and he’d yanked it away as if burned. He’d looked a bit embarrassed about it, but the message was clear: stay away from me. 

Maybe Nick was starting to let people back in again. 

“The cloud?” Trubel asks. “You planning on sharing our journals with someone?”

“Maybe eventually. But really I mean it’ll be good for when we travel and want access to everything and all we have to bring is a smartphone.”

Trubel sits up at that. “What do you mean travel?”

“Yeah, I thought we could take some a trip now and again. See some Wesen in other parts of the country - hell, the world. Maybe find other Grimms.”

Trubel feels her heart sink. That’s why Nick is in a better mood. Not because he is dealing with his grief and moving on, but because he is running away. 

And she would know what that looks like.

“But this is home,” she says, eyebrows furrowing, protest in her voice.

“Just short trips, Trubel,” Nick replies reassuringly. “We’ll come back. Aren’t you curious about what else is out there?”

_Honestly… no._ Trubel has finally found her place, here in Portland with Nick, Hank, Monroe and Rosalee. She never wants to run away again. 

She wants to say this truth to him, but she also wants to do anything she can to heal Nick’s heart. She knows she was the source of his pain, and when she meets his dark eyes, pleading, almost begging her to give him this, well… she finds it impossible to refuse. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” she acquiesces. 

The relief is clear on his face. “It’ll be fun.”

Trubel just gives a half-hearted nod. She hides the unenthusiastic action by leaning forward to grab one of the blank journals off the table. “I think I’m going to go get started on this.” 

***

Nick doesn’t bring up the travelling thing for a couple weeks after their initial talk, and Trubel thinks maybe he changed his mind or forgot. She’s just about forgotten it herself when she comes home one day to find a suitcase on her bed with a cheeky “pack me” note left on top of it. She does so, although she doesn’t even know where they’re going or for how long. It’s hours before Nick gets home from work and she can talk to him about it.

He shows her some articles about a rash of weird killings in North Dakota. A sleepy town, mummified remains, and a baffled police force (if you can call three officers and a sheriff a ‘force’) meant that professional help is needed.

“We’re professionals?” Trubel asks dubiously. That elicits a chuckle from Nick.

“Close enough,” he replies.

They take a plane because it’s faster, and rent a car, and drive that all the way to a crappy motel by the side of the road just outside town. The two of them spent the trip formulating a plan of action. The deaths were all happening in the late hours of the evening, and to single men who’d been out drinking. The sheriff had issued warnings to the local populace to be careful when out drinking, because it appeared at the murderer was targeting the bars in town. But it was difficult to warn grown men in a dead-end town off of drinking and the deaths kept happening. Nick and Trubel decided to stake out the two bars in town and see if anyone gets followed home.

“We good on the plan?” Nick asks, his back to Trubel. He’s peeking out the motel window through the blinds. It’s only late afternoon, so it will be a few hours yet before they leave. 

“Yup,” Trubel replies. She’s laying on one of the beds, her journal open in front of her. She’s already writing in it, despite not yet knowing what kind of Wesen they’ll be facing. She knows Nick has emulated the previous Grimm authors and made more pragmatic, subject-based entries. But Trubel finds she enjoys making her journals more indepth. She’s never been one to really share her feelings, but when she’s writing in the journal, it’s different. The words pour out of her and she can express what she feels a little more expertly than when she tries to talk. Putting down her thoughts and emotions about not only the Wesen they encounter but her entire experience as a Grimm has been more fulfilling than she would ever have thought.

Nick perches on the other bed and grins widely at Trubel. She pauses her writing and looks up at him. 

“What?” she asks suspiciously.

“Nothing. This is great.”

Her eyes narrow in response. “What?” she repeats again, drawing the word out more slowly.

“We’re like Mulder and Scully,” Nick says.

“Who?”

“You know… The X-Files?”

“What’s that?” Trubel asks. 

“You don’t -” Nick cuts himself off, his grin replaced by an indignant look. “The X-Files. A tv show about solving mysterious crimes. Aliens and monsters. How old are you again?”

Trubel opens her mouth but she doesn’t get to answer.

“Nevermind,” Nick says quickly. “I don’t need a reminder of my own fuddy-duddy status.”

“You’re not a fuddy-duddy,” Trubel says. She closes her journal and sits up, cross-legged, facing Nick. “I didn’t get to watch a lot of tv growing up.”

Nick pauses for a moment, unsure what to say. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Trubel says matter-of-factly.

The strength Trubel routinely shows at surviving her own troubled past never ceases to amaze Nick. He wonders not for the first time if she could ever teach him how to do that. 

“Can I ask you something Nick?” Trubel’s voice is halting, and her eyes keep darting away from his. A sure sign she knows Nick isn’t going to like what she’s about to say. She doesn’t wait for him to reply before forging ahead. “Why didn’t you want any of the others to come?”

“Hank and I can’t both take off work at the same time,” Nick replies casually. “And Monroe and Rosalee have their own jobs and lives to worry about. This isn’t their fight.”

“But that’s the thing, Nick. It is their fight. It’s all of ours.”

“They’re not Grimms,” Nick says firmly, as if that statement is explanation enough.

“That never stopped you from involving them before,” she says. 

“Yeah, and look where it got them. They’ve all been almost killed more than once; they’ve gone through shit they shouldn’t have to. Look at Wu. I tried to protect him from it and it almost drove him crazy, and then I had to bring him in anyway. And then there’s…”

Nick trails off but Trubel knows what his next words would have been. She swallows thickly at the sudden emotion in her throat. Their eyes meet and they don’t say her name, though it hangs in the air between them.

He continues as if the wordless exchange didn’t happen. “There’s a reason that the Grimms have been loners all this time. I don’t want to keep hurting people.”

Trubel looks down at her hands. The hands that took Juliette’s life. How can Nick be okay with this? How does he not look at her with hate and anger? 

“I’m the one that hurts people,” Trubel finally says. 

“It wasn’t your fault!” Nick practically shouts. They’re both a bit taken aback by his volume, and his next words are quieter. Calmer. “It was mine. It’s all been my fault. And that stops now.”

“How?” 

“No more non-Grimms in Grimm business.”

Trubel hates the idea of leaving behind the others. Nick’s friends have become her friends. Her _family._ She cares about them.

And that’s probably why, in the end, she can see Nick’s logic enough to go along with it.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”

***

_I don’t know how to tell Nick what I feel. But what’s worse is I don’t know which of us is right, because I can see his side. I took the life of someone we both care about and I don’t want to have to do that again. The others need protection from that._

_But at the same time, what kind of life is this, where there’s almost nobody in it that I care about?_

_What am I protecting?_

***

The first two nights of their stake-out are a bust, but the third nets them a perpetrator. An older woman, North African in appearance, targeting lone men taken in by her ancient beauty and apparent lack of threat. They try to apprehend her without violence but she won’t give in or stand down. 

Trubel ends up killing the woman when she tries to suck Nick’s life energy out of his chest with her hand. _This is becoming a theme for us,_ Trubel thinks, but she doesn’t say the words aloud. Instead she offers a hand and helps Nick up off the ground.

“So we did it?” Trubel asks.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replies. 

They stand shoulder to shoulder, over the dead body. Somehow, the victory feels hollow. Trubel muses on why. Because Monroe wasn’t there to try and talk the ancient mummy-lady down? Because Hank wasn’t there to make a quip about the woman being a Hexenbiest lite? Rosalee wasn’t there to wonder on her motivations or history, to inject some kind of humanity into the situation?

Instea it’s just Nick and Trubel, the Grimms. The killers. They vanquished their foe, and there was little to do but move on to the next one. Was this their new legacy? Leaving a trail of Wesen bodies behind them as they travel the globe?

“Let’s go home,” Nick mutters, turning away from the body and not looking back.

***

_I know that protecting the people I care about is important. I know that through whatever reason, whether it’s God or some kind of ancient power or just some evolutionary thing, I have the powers of the Grimm that I need to use to protect the powerless. Yeah okay, when other people, non-Grimms, get involved, they sometimes get hurt. But isn’t isolation what caused problems in the past? Isn’t distancing ourselves from the ones we need to protect what made everyone so afraid of us in the first place?_

Trubel puts her pen down between the pages of her journal after finishing her thought. She’s alone in the apartment, Nick at work. They’ve been back in town for a week and haven’t spoken of the outing since it happened. Trubel can feel a rising need to bring these questions up to Nick, but she’s clueless as to how. Apart from the fact she’s never been good talking about stuff like that face to face, she’s also afraid of upsetting Nick enough for him to push her away, as well. She’s played out a dozen different ways a conversation between them might go, and in her mind, it always ends with Nick making some dramatic statement about how their partnership isn’t working, packing his bags, and leaving her alone. 

Her desperation to cling to the closest thing she’s had to family - to support, to understanding, to companionship - in years keeps her quiet. But it’s also chipping away at her insides, bit by bit, every day. She wonders if she isn’t looking at a zero-sum game. That in the end, even if she keeps Nick, she’ll lose herself.

She’s taken out of her musings by the sound of the front door opening and closing. She drags herself off the bed and heads to the living room. Nick promised to actually make food tonight instead of getting take-out… so at least there’s that silver lining to the evening’s dark thoughts.

But instead of finding Nick with an armful of groceries, she finds two Wesen holding long-bladed weapons... _scythes,_ a corner of her mind provides. The Wesen are scaly-skinned, wide-nosed, and have mouths full of teeth. She doesn’t know who they are, but at the moment, that doesn’t seem to matter.

Trubel barely has time to register what’s happening before a scythe comes flying at her face. She ducks and rolls, the blade stuck in the wall where her head was moments before. The Wesen abandons the weapon and comes at her, fists ready. There are no blades or other weapons in reach so she has no choice but to fight hand-to-hand. The two of them are fairly matched, trading blows, knocking each other down and dodging swings, while the other Wesen makes attempts at beheading her whenever she stops moving for a second.

No words are spoken in the fight. The Wesen are focused on their apparent goal of killing her, and it takes all of Trubel’s concentration to stay alive in the fight against the both of them. But a particularly lucky blow connects to her cheek and she sees stars for a moment. Her knees hit the floor and she recovers just in time to scramble away from another decapitation attempt. 

She’s losing her breath, and - she thinks sourly - the fight.

Fortunately, in some kind of good timing award from the Grimm powers that be, Nick comes home just as Trubel is wielding a couch cushion as a shield and a scythe comes whistling through the air to rip it in half, cotton batting flying in all directions.

“Trubel!” Nick’s voice is panicked, and he drops everything he’s carrying to pull out his gun. 

The first one, the one holding the scythe, goes down immediately with three bullets to the chest, the both of the Wesen caught by surprise by Nick’s arrival.

The second proves more difficult to shoot, and Nick doesn’t want to risk hitting Trubel in the crossfire, so he ditches the gun in favor of a small knife he pulls from his jacket. The Wesen grabs the scythe stuck in the wall and goes after Nick, and the two of them start fighting, Trubel forgotten. Trubel regains her strength enough to rush him from the back while he’s distracted by Nick, and it turns into a three-way fight again, but the odds now stacked against the Wesen.

He’s unable to keep up the fight for long against two Grimms, and when the sound of police sirens rise in the air - clearly the gunfire aroused some attention - he abandons the effort and runs out the door.

Nick intends to run after him, anger pulsing through his veins, but Trubel’s voice stops him before he makes a step. When he looks over at her, his anger evaporates away to be replaced by worry.

“Oh, God,” he says, and drops down to her side by the floor. She’s been hurt, a pool of blood soaking into the carpet underneath her. She lifts her hands off her stomach to show a torn shirt and a bloody slice in her stomach. It looks deep. Nick touches the wound and dark blood gushes out. “Don’t move,” he commands as he runs to the bathroom to retrieve towels.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Trubel replies to the ceiling. 

Nick’s back before long, pressing a towel into the cut. Trubel inhales sharply at the new pain from the pressure. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says. “We Grimms heal good, remember?”

“I’m sorry,” Nick says, shaking his head. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Trubel says jokingly. “Sorry I won’t get to eat your dinner. I’m starving.”

But she can’t elicit the response she wants from Nick. He’s too full of worry and guilt and self-recrimination. 

“Everything in the world isn’t your fault,” Trubel tries again, more seriously.

“It feels like it is,” Nick replies. His voice is so full of resignation that it makes Trubel want to cry. She reaches up to touch his cheek, wanting to offer some kind of comfort, some way to make it better. Instead she leaves a streak of her own blood across his face. 

She’s spared from further effort by encroaching darkness in her vision and the arrival of police officers at their door. 

“I’m Detective Nick Burkhardt,” his voice floats in her ears after her eyes are closed. “Call an ambulance…”

***

Trubel’s dreams would be more aptly called nightmares, though they lack a definable frightening presence. The faces of her loved ones drift in and out her mind, and they’re all smiling at her and telling her how important she is to all of them. 

Even Juliette is there, smiling at her, free of the Hexenbiest influence on her mind. Her hair is bright, her eyes are shining, and she’s saying things Trubel can’t make out but knows are meant to be comforting. 

It makes Trubel’s heart want to burst, and in her dream, she can feel it swelling, filled with anguish, pushing out against her ribs and causing physical pain, a burning that won’t fade. 

She wakes up crying. 

The room she’s in is white and antiseptic. Machinery beeps around her. She still feels the burning pain from her dream, though in reality it’s less in her chest and more in her stomach. The memories of what happened come rushing back to her: strange Wesen trying to kill her, Nick’s 11th hour arrival, her bleeding out on the living room floor. She must be in a hospital room. 

Nick is by her side in a moment, looking worried and relieved at the same time. “Hey sleepyhead.”

“Hi,” she replies, her voice weak. She wipes at her face, brushing away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, misinterpreting why she was crying. “The docs sewed you up. Nothing was damaged internally.” Trubel decides not to share the dream with him.

“I told you I would be fine,” she quips. That pulls a smile from Nick, which is a better pain reliever than whatever weaksauce they are giving her in her IV.

“Hank, Monroe, and Rosalee are on their way,” Nick says after a moment. “They should be here soon.”

Trubel nods. “Good,” she says. Her voice is regaining strength, but is still scratchy. “Water?”

“Yeah, of course,” Nick says, and rushes to pour some into a cup for her. He holds it for her while she sips slowly, letting each drink wet her mouth for a moment before swallowing. Eventually she holds up her hand, signalling she’s had enough, and he puts the cup down on her bedside table.

“So… who the hell were those guys?” Trubel asks. 

Nick’s jaw clenches. “Reapers.”

Trubel nods slowly. She remembers now seeing them mentioned in a few of the journals at the trailer. “They kill Grimms, right?”

“Yeah. They came after me a few times but I kept killing them first. I hadn’t heard from them in years after I sent the heads of their last attempted killers back home in a box.”

Trubel raises an eyebrow. 

“I wanted to send a message,” Nick shrugs. “And I did. For a little while, at least.”

“But now they’re back,” Trubel says. “Why?”

Nick’s saved from trying to come up with a reason why by the arrival of Hank, Monroe, and Rosalee. The three of them rush to Trubel’s bedside, and Nick steps back to let them fuss over her. Trubel smiles at them all in turn and assures them she’s fine.

“Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you two weren’t shut away in that crappy little apartment on the edge of town,” Rosalee says, voice light, but the judgment clear. Rosalee bends down to give Trubel a hug, and Trubel’s eyes connect with Nick’s over her head. She’s right, Trubel thinks. Nick looks away, as if he can read her mind.

Rosalee pulls back and puts a hand on Trubel’s arm. She’s warm and comforting, a soft presence so different from Nick’s hard edges. It feels balancing to Trubel, in a way. 

“Just a couple of reapers,” Trubel says casually. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Reapers?” Monroe exclaims, turning to Nick. “I thought they got the hint the last time.”

“Well, they just got another one,” Nick replies darkly. They all turn to look at him. 

“Are you hurt too?” Rosalee asks suddenly, gesturing at his face. “You’ve got some blood there.”

“It’s just mine,” Trubel says. 

Hank looks thoughtful at that. “Why did they go after you, and not Nick?”

“They tried to kill us both,” Nick says.

“You surprised them, though,” Trubel interjects. “You came home early.”

“Divide and conquer? Maybe they thought Trubel was the weaker one,” Nick says. Then he grins. “Though they couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Hank, Monroe, and Rosalee all exchange looks that do not go unnoticed by Nick. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing, it’s not important right now,” Rosalee says. She pats Trubel on the arm. “She needs to rest.”

Trubel closes her eyes in frustration. She feels like what she really needs is for this tightrope-walking act to come to an end. She opens her eyes again and looks at each of the three in turn. “No, tell us. What is it?” she asks forcefully, ignoring the flare-up of heat in the wound in her stomach that results. 

“I think,” Rosalee begins hesitantly after neither Hank nor Monroe offer anything up. “I think someone wants you to be alone, Nick.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I think history has shown that when you have a team to back you up, you do better out there,” Rosalee clarifies. “You’ve all but pushed the rest of us away. With Trubel gone, you’d have no one.”

Trubel holds her breath. Leave it to Rosalee to rip off the band aid. 

Nick scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t - I mean, we still hang out. I just -”

“You’ve just cut us out of your Grimm life,” Monroe interrupts. He puffs up a bit, clearly letting a well-nurtured anger come out of its hiding spot. “You know, I remember when I first met you. You didn’t know anything, Nick. You were like a child. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be where you are. Hell, you could be dead. I’ve lost count the amount of times I’ve saved your ass.”

“Same goes for me,” Hank says, jumping on board this impromptu intervention. “Think how much easier things are at work now that I know. You and I were always great partners, but we’ve been at our best since we’ve both been working from the same knowledge.”

Nick’s eyes dart between the three of them. He’s standing slightly apart from them, and Trubel notices his hand twitch, as if to move for a weapon, an unconscious response to the feeling of attack. He meets her eyes, an unspoken question in them.

“They’re right, Nick,” she says. “You need them. We both do.”

“But…” Nick utters uselessly. 

“People will die,” Trubel says. Rosalee’s eyes widen - clearly it’s not the tactic she would take, but Trubel can’t do anything but be the blunt person she’s always been. “They’ll die, or be hurt, or worse. But that’s gonna happen either way. You know it will. We can only do the best we can with the shit we’ve been given.”

Nick takes a step back, and Trubel worries for a moment he’s about to bolt, but instead he just sits on the other bed in the room. “What if it happens again?” he asks.

Juliette’s face bubbles up in Trubel’s mind. Smiling. Happy.

“It might,” she says. “But that’s what free will is all about. Right?” 

“Right,” Hank offers. “We can’t go back to our lives, Nick. Not while there’s a threat out there that needs addressing.”

“It’s not even just about you,” Monroe chimes in. “We want to do this, because this is our home too.”

Rosalee nods. “And we’ll do it on our own if we have to, but we’d all stand a better chance with you there.”

Nick looks up at that. That would be just like them, wouldn’t it? Going off to fight Wesen on their own. He chuckles at the idea. It’s not even that he thinks they couldn’t do it. They could, for a while. But they’re right. Eventually they’d meet a threat they couldn’t handle on their own. 

“We miss you man,” Monroe says. “Please come back to us.”

Nick looks about ready to cry. He clears his throat and takes a drink of Trubel’s water. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says finally. 

Everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief, Trubel chief among them, a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders.

***

Rosalee and Monroe drop Trubel off at the apartment after her hospital stay. She recovered very quickly - slightly baffling her doctor - and recovered fully, apart from a still slightly sore and pinkish scar. Nick went home ahead of her to clean up. He said it was the least he could do since he never even warned her about the reapers. 

Trubel opens the door and finds the living room to be more or less how it was before the whole incident. The knocked over lamps and spilled groceries are gone. The smell of cleaner hangs heavy in the air, and the patches of carpet previously laden with her blood and the blood of the reaper have been cut away, and new squares of not-quite-matching carpet inlaid in their place. 

They definitely aren’t getting their security deposit back.

Trubel calls for Nick and she follows his answering voice to her room. When she enters, she sees him standing next to her bed, reading one of her journals. He looks up at her, his expression one of slight surprise. 

“There’s not that much about Wesen in here,” Nick muses after a moment of shared silence.

Trubel shrugs, the action causing only a slight twinge in her stomach. “Yeah I guess I kind of turned them more into personal journals. Once I started I just couldn’t stop.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” Nick asks. 

Trubel can’t do anything but shrug again. “I’m not good at talking.”

“But you are good at writing,” he says. Trubel looks sharply at him, but he’s not upset, just… surprised. 

He traces his fingers across the words in the journal - her words, her unspoken thoughts - and she feels exposed. Trubel steps closer and takes the book from him, closes it, and set it on the bed. She feels a little protective at the moment. “How much did you read?” 

“Enough,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just saw it open there and was curious what you had been writing.”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “That’s not what they were supposed to be for.” 

Nick heaves a sigh. “You’re right, though. All of you were right. I feel like an idiot.”

Trubel nods. “Keep going.” 

That elicits a laugh from Nick, and Trubel feels so relieved at the sound, she can’t stop herself from rushing forward and grabbing Nick into a hug. After a surprised moment, Nick reciprocates, his arms going around her back, his cheek resting on the top of her head. They grip each other tightly, both relieved that the other is - finally - physically and emotionally okay. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick mumbles into her hair. 

“Will you ever stop saying that?” Trubel asks as she squeezes him tightly, ignoring the protesting healing wound in her stomach.

“Nope.”

Neither of them moves for a moment, until a knock comes at the door. At the sound, they disentangle, and share an embarrassed smile. 

“Pizza,” Nick explains. 

Trubel rolls her eyes. “You owe me a home-cooked meal,” she says pointedly.

“Next time. And we can invite the others. Hank and Monroe and Rosalee.”

Trubel smiles widely. “Good plan.”

“I have one from time to time.” 

Nick knocks her shoulder with his, and they make their way to the living room and the call of dinner. And despite her protests over delivery food, Trubel could swear that pizza is the most delicious pizza she’s ever had in her life.


End file.
